


Lazy Sunday Morning

by editingatwork



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8452897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editingatwork/pseuds/editingatwork
Summary: Kent wakes up with his arm asleep and being slowly roasted alive by the body heat of his sleeping husband. He wouldn't have it any other way.





	

Kent wakes up squished beneath his mountain of a husband. He’s overheated, his left arm is numb, and he can feel a puddle of drool on his shoulder.

It’s fantastic.

He kinda needs to pee and he’d really like use of his arm back, but he doesn’t move. He nuzzles his face deeper into the pillow and basks. Tater is spooning him, pressed against almost every last inch of Kent from nape to knees, his breath hot and humid on Kent’s skin. Kent can feel him everywhere; the thick weight of Tater’s thighs, his solid chest, his long arms and big hands.

Tater spoons like an octopus, wrapping his big, long limbs around Kent until it’s almost impossible to get untangled unless Tater wakes up and lets him.

On warm spring mornings like this, Tater’s nocturnal affection can be a problem. Kent’s way too hot. There’s sweat dripping down the backs of his knees and along the little dip in his back where Tater’s body isn’t in full contact with his own. But Kent won’t move, not for God or money or a free pass to the Stanley Cup finals. Every time this happens--and it happens _a lot_ \--Kent just settles in and waits for Tater to join him in the waking world.

It took him so long to get here. It took him so long to get to a point in his life where he _could_  wake up to another body twisted up in his and just relax into it, instead of thinking, _Shit, he wasn’t supposed to stay the night_.

There were others before Tater. There were others before Kent. And every morning that Kent wakes up with Tater octopus’ed around him like this, wedding ring glinting silver on his finger, he believes a little more that for Tater, there will never be anyone else after Kent. Just like Kent feels in his bones that there _can’t_  be anyone else after Alexei.

Tater’s heartbeat thumps quietly in his chest, louder than before. Kent feels him shift, and breathe, and wake.

“Morning, babe,” he murmurs, when he thinks Tater’s aware enough to hear it.

“Hmm _dobraye utro_ ,” Tater mumbles into Kent’s shoulder blade. “Ugh. I’m drool on you.”

“Yep.”

“ _Prosti.”_  Tater yanks on the bed sheet until he can wipe up the mess. When he’s done, he drops the sheet and kisses the damp spot. “All better.”

Kent snuggles back into Tater until he gets the hint. The arm comes back around Kent, this time slipping under his arm and circling his waist to pull him close. He purrs and closes his eyes. Tater nuzzles his ear and dots light kisses over his nape.

“Is Sunday,” Tater comments.

Kent makes a noise of agreement.

“No practice. No games.” Calloused fingers stroke lazily across Kent’s stomach. “You meeting Zimmboni? For lunch?”

Kent grunts. “Tomorrow.”

“So... no plans.”

“None. You?”

Teeth on Kent’s ear. “No. I’m have no plans.” Tater’s voice has gone deep and honey-sweet and Kent knows where this is going. Goosebumps break out over his skin in anticipation. They haven’t had a marathon lie-in in _months_. Kent loves them: twenty-four hours (or nearly) of nothing but sleep, food, reading, talking, and toe-curling sex.

“Good.” Tater settles into the bed, into Kent, with the kind of heavy finality that usually indicates he plans on going back to sleep. It’s not what Kent was expecting, in all honesty, but he doesn’t mind. Eventually Tater will wake up again, realize that Kent’s naked, and take advantage of that. Probably for a straight hour. In the mean time, Kent is _always_  open to getting more sleep.

It’s not perfect. Tater’s a furnace and Kent’s arm is still trapped under them and completely asleep and his bladder is starting to complain, but still, he can’t bring himself to move. He’s waited his whole life to suffer like this. Through flimsy childhood crushes and exciting teen flings; through Jack Zimmermann and all the nameless people who came after; through dinners with friends and lonely nights with just his cold sheets and his cat. He’s wanted to wake up exactly like this, buried beneath a human landslide and ridiculously uncomfortable because of it, but willing to endure every last bit of that because he loves this man so goddamn much. Every single second Kent spends with him is precious.

Tater’s heartbeat and breathing slow as he sinks back into slumber. Kent shuffles just enough to take the pressure off his bladder, resigns himself to pins and needles in a few hours, and goes back to sleep.

It’s fantastic.


End file.
